There was a couple walking along with a little girl and a loaf of bread. The man was earthy looking. Long shorts, brown toes, an easy walk. The woman was beautifully rounded and classic. Soft dark hair slung back. Skipping twice to their every step was a little brown button of a girl, her clear skin tinged by the golden summer sun. The couple walked slowly, their loaf of bread swinging in the soft weathered hands of the man. They stopped along the path, next to my car where I was breastfeeding. The woman smelled a flower and motioned to the girl who, standing tiptoed, grasped the flower with both hands and breathed it in before skipping away. The three walked hand in hand.
This was amidst a busy beach town street, bustling with city folk sporting pink blistered skin, more accustomed to skinny white tubes of fluorescent light than the warm rays of the sun. I watched them walk by, embodying everything I hope for and think about when I imagine a summer holiday. They looked truly happy and well rested. Content in each other’s company and the blue sky and their loaf of bread. While other people were wandering around, slower than normal but still with a big city edge to their gait, they smiled and strolled on, seemingly oblivious to anything but each other and the sun shining on their backs.
They reminded me how lucky we are to be on summer holidays. To have a place to stay away from our busy lives and the big smoke. To be together with extended family. To hold my children in my arms and enjoy their smiles and laughter and chubby legs. Not to worry about anything much.
How lovely to be in such a state of summery bliss. Even though I have to remind myself to check in and appreciate it every now and then.